


For He Who Lives More Lives Than One

by talkingtothesky



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, Cliffhangers, Episode: s02e08 Til Death, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Pining, Plot Twists, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-25 03:37:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4945303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Root kidnaps John, gets him to betray Harold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [potc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/potc/gifts).



> Originally posted [here](http://talking2thesky.tumblr.com/post/130612927228/kiss-in-the-rain).
> 
> Title from Oscar Wilde.

Reese has a black eye. He’s just standing there on the sidewalk, absolutely drenched, gazing up into Harold’s front room.

Harold beckons for him to come in, but John shakes his head, so he resigns himself to going outside. The first gust of wind catches at his shirtsleeves and makes him shiver, followed by the patter of raindrops at his back and on his glasses. “John, what’s going on?” He limps slowly down the steps.

“This house is bugged,” Reese says, once Harold’s far enough away from the door.

Harold freezes. “By whom?”

“By her.” He doesn’t have to ask for clarification. “I’m really sorry, Harold,” John continues, and that scares him even more.

His lips are parted in shock and confusion, which makes it easier for John to slip close and fit their mouths together, gentle hand on Harold’s cheek. His chin and coat are rough to the touch. Harold startles, wants to know what the hell Reese thinks he’s doing. Before Harold can pull back and attempt speech, John’s pushing a bitter pill onto Harold’s tongue, transferring it from his own.

Harold rears away, spits it out desperately. He scrapes his tongue on his sleeve, but it’s too late, one touch is all it takes. He begins to falter almost immediately, staring at John with his brow furrowed so hard his head hurts. “What have you done?” The betrayal stings like a knife in his throat.

“I’m trying to save you,” John murmurs, and his tear-filled eyes are the last thing Harold sees before he slumps against him, unconscious.


	2. Chapter 2

[24 Hours Earlier]

 

"I suppose anything is worthwhile when life gives you a second chance to be with the one you love," Harold says, and that has to be John's cue, doesn't it?

 

Right after he got him back was the wrong time. Harold was shaken up, traumatized, and the last thing he needed was romantic advances from his Contingency. But it's been over two months, and he's getting back to normal. And this case, this mad couple, had brought out the romantic in Harold like John had never seen before. Sure, he'd wanted to let the Drakes kill each other at first, but later, when he'd set the table for them, he'd said 'you don't look like monsters, you look very much in love'. John had stood behind the two way mirror and swallowed hard. _Please look at me like that_ , he'd silently begged. _Please see that in me._

 

"Come on, Bear," Harold concludes, in a lighter tone of voice. The dog barks and trots over to give Finch his leash. And easy as that, John's missed his chance. He stands behind the table and doesn't move to join them. Harold doesn't invite him along, doesn't see him at all. He's lost in his own recollections, while John's heart is in his throat.

 

He stays there for a good fifteen minutes. Just like with Jessica, he couldn't say it when it mattered. Couldn't _because_ it mattered, so damn much. He's given Harold and Bear a long head-start by the time he exits the library, turning off lights and locking up as he goes.

 

He's only two blocks away when a hand snakes out from a side street and stops him abruptly. She's leaning against a wall, taser in hand, grinning sweetly.

 

"Hi, John." Then there's electricity and he's falling to his knees.


	3. Chapter 3

 

When John wakes up, he's surrounded by computers. They all seem to be processing information, crunching numbers all by themselves. He half expects to see keys depressed by invisible hands on the keyboards, but there's just the steady churn of maybe a hundred printers, reams and reams of paper.

 

Root's big, bald, hired muscle appears from behind John's chair when John tries to stand up, and slugs him in the face. He's lashed to the chair pretty thoroughly anyway, so it seems like overkill. John grimaces, his left eye aching in its socket. He attempts a mock-friendly chuckle, addresses the guy. "Nice right hook."

 

"You're welcome," is the gruff reply, in heavily accented Russian. No tattoos on his knuckles, so he's not from one of the street gangs. Reese is busy cataloguing his features and committing them to memory, when a door squeaks open and heels click towards him.

 

"Leave us," Root commands, and the guy does. John can tell from the way her leather jacket moves, there's a gun beneath it, and not one that would normally fit in a purse. She's enough afraid of him to be packing heavy, then.

 

He tilts his head sideways, plasters on a bland smile. He'll wait for her to talk first. She grabs another chair, scrapes it along the floor towards him in a playful manner designed to aggravate his ringing head. Stopping about three metres from him, she straddles the chair backwards and looks at him fondly, playing the same waiting game he is. She raps her long, black-painted fingernails against the backrest in a repetitive, staccato rhythm, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the printers.

 

John sits it out for another three minutes, then caves. He's too anxious for news of Finch to waste time on petty mind games. "Okay, I'll bite. What is this place?"

 

Root makes a face like she's frequently disappointed in him. "This is the office of Ernest Thornhill," she says, as though that's supposed to explain everything.

 

"Why have you brought me here?"

 

Root shrugs, tucks her chin against her right shoulder, so pleased that he's letting her run the show.

 

"Because," and here John tenses, because she's reaching into her pocket, "Now I have your phone." She waggles it in the air, so he can see the screen.

 

The tracker. She's holding open the app to which the coordinates from Harold's glasses are sent. He'd planted the device the same night they went for drinks after saying goodbye to Sofia. Harold had brought him back to one of his houses, and once he'd fallen asleep John had snuck into his room and retrieved them from atop a pile of books on the nightstand. He'd affixed the bug in the lounge, where he could have more light, and then tiptoed back in to replace them. He'd only lingered for a few moments to watch Harold's resting, naked face.

 

The guilt sinks like a stone into John's gut. The very thing that was supposed to prevent him losing Harold to Root again, and it's led her straight to him. The thought makes John furious.

 

"I did warn you," he states coldly, "what would happen if you came near us again."

 

"Yes, I remember. What would you like to do to me, John?" She winks at him - it doesn't quite work, since she uses both eyes.

 

The machines around them are still churning away, swallowing up and spitting out continuous rolls of paper. "I could feed you to one of your favorite computers, for starters." He forces a grin to match hers.

 

"I might enjoy that." She turns her attention back to his phone, tapping away.

 

"Are you gonna call him?" John wants to keep her talking, keep her distracted, because as long as she's baiting him she's not having Harold hunted down and hurt. At least, he hopes not. She's typing very fast and it's making him nervous. There's a razor blade sewed into the lining of his belt which he can use to get himself out of these bonds, if he keeps her talking long enough. And then he can kill her.

 

Root doesn't look up. "Why would I do that? I already have his location. Oh." She does meet his eyes, then. "You think I'm going to tell him that I have you and he'll come running to get you, despite knowing it's a trap? Sorry, that's not the plan."

 

"What is the plan, then?"

 

"You already know I want him to take me to the Machine."

 

"So...you're just gonna follow him on that until he leads you to it?" John snorts.

 

"Nope!" She says gleefully, standing up and starting a slow circuit around him. "Keep guessing."

 

John groans inwardly. He'll have to still the movement of his hands as she walks behind him, or she'll confiscate his means of getting free.

 

It doesn't come to that. Before she's even halfway around the circle, the phone rings in her hand. John freezes, Root rocks back on her heels in delight. "Here we go! Pretend everything's normal." She puts it on speakerphone and holds it closer to John's head.

 

A moment later Finch's voice comes tinny through the speakers. _"Good morning, Mr. Reese!"_

 

John screws his eyes shut, leans his head back. "Hi, Finch."

 

_"Where are you?"_

 

John thinks about the racket which the machines are making, and improvises. "I'm at the gym. Is there a new number?"

 

_"No. Just checking in, since you usually show up here by now, regardless. Everything alright?"_

They have procedures for a situation like this, where one of them is in trouble but can't talk plainly. John could say, for example, 'apple', work it into a normal sentence, and Harold would know something was up. But in this case, so would Root.

 

"I'm fine. Let me know as soon as anything comes in?"

 

 _"Will do. Enjoy your workout, John!"_ That cheerful sign-off, oblivious and friendly, hurts John worse than anything Root could do to him. He opens his eyes just in time to see her disconnect the call. She's walked a full lap around him while he spoke.

 

"Good job keeping him in the dark. He's surprisingly easy to lie to, isn't he?"

 

John turns his head away, blinking rapidly.

 

"Now you've proved you can do it, you're going to keep on lying. I want you to bring him to me."


	4. Chapter 4

John can hardly believe what he's just heard. The suggestion is so utterly ludicrous that he's genuinely laughing out loud, amazed at her audacious lunacy. "That's not gonna happen," he says, through his chuckles. "You'd have better luck killing me."

 

Root tucks John's phone back into her pocket, leaving her free to make finger guns with both hands. "That's near enough what he said. You guys are so cute."

 

John's amusement drains away. He's heard none of the details of what went on between Root and Harold while she had him. He isn't sure he wants to know. And none of this makes any sense. "Why would you even attempt to turn me? You've got the phone, just keep it simple. Go and say hi yourself."

 

Root walking up to Harold is the last thing in the world John wants. He's been hiding even her photographs from Finch, and trying to find out more about her when Harold's not around. But he's trying to see things her way. Her front as Caroline Turing was certainly elaborate; this is something else.

 

He doesn't expect her to tell him the answer. "Because apparently, despite your dim-witted nature, you're his friend. I tried to tell Harold, _I'm_ his best friend. He seemed reluctant to accept that. You got in the way last time. But if you betrayed him now..."

 

"You have a funny way of making friends."

 

"I could say the same to you. How is it you recruited Lionel Fusco? Oh right, you flipped his car over and shot him in the back."

 

John's eyes narrow. "How would you know...?" He cuts himself off, that's not important right now. "It doesn't matter. You won't turn me against Harold."

 

"Not even knowing he's the reason Jessica died?"

 

Anger surges through him. John slices his thumb open on the edge of the razor as he pushes it through the stitching of his belt at his back, where his wrists are tied. "You don't get to say her name."

 

Root makes a 'that's cute' face and flops back into her chair, having turned it to face him. "Silly me, you already forgave him for refusing to save her, didn't you."

 

She's baiting him, that's great, that's the distraction he needs. Let her know she's digging where it hurts, she'll keep on not watching what his hands are doing. "She wasn't his to save. I failed her, not him."

 

"Still, kind of a big thing to forgive someone for, don't you think?"

 

John thinks of _Flowers for Algernon_ , a new book every year. "You're pretty good at holding grudges." The first of the thin ropes binding his wrists to the chair loosens and gives way.

 

Root shows no sign of having noticed. "My point, John, is that your crush is really obvious, and really, really pathetic. You're some of the most flawed, most illogical code I've ever witnessed in human beings. Take this bug on Harry's glasses, for one. That big heart of yours is telling you, oh, you just _have_ to know where he is all of the time - but a tiny bit of thought would point out you've gone and given your enemies a perfect tool to get to him."

 

John smiles at her. "You're pretty good at gloating, too."

 

"I'm glad you think so. I have a little bit more to do." _Come on, come on, come on_ , John thinks. His wrists are sore, but he can get this. "You'll be pleased to hear I don't have anyone pointing a gun at Harold right now." She's pulling the phone out again, and now John has a dawning, horrified suspicion what she was typing, before. "But you know who I do have a gun on? Your detectives." She holds the screen up again, flicking between camera feeds. "And Zoe Morgan, who is stunning, by the way. Such a shame your marriage didn't last." Another saccharine smile, flashing up and gone in a second. "So basically, I don't need to turn you. You'll do exactly what I say or your friends will all die. Does that make things simple enough for you?"

 

John cuts through the last of his ropes, and lunges for her.


	5. Chapter 5

He's got just enough reach to topple her to the floor. He holds the razor blade to her throat, kneeling on her wrist to prevent her reaching for her gun. "Call them off," John snarls.

Root's hair is in her face. She looks _happy_. She squirms beneath him, unnerving John with her unconcerned playfulness. Reese snatches his own phone from her lax hand, types STAND DOWN and then destroys it. No more co-ordinates. He doesn't slice into her neck, although a feral part of him longs to do it. Instead, he pockets the blade and stands up, grabs her upper arms and rolls her onto her stomach. She doesn’t try to fight him. He flips up the back of her jacket and takes her gun.

"I'm going to walk out of here now." John steps over her. He’s free. Now to get Harold to safety.

He's striding towards the door when she calls him back. "Can I show you something?" There's the sound of distant gunfire. John whirls around, aiming the gun at her. She's still on the floor, kicking her heels in the air, propping herself up on her elbows. She smiles at him as he watches the unbroken screen of a second phone. On the camera feed, Fusco drops a hot dog and ducks for cover, a shop window shattering behind him.

Root gets to her feet. "Next time, they won't miss."

John closes his eyes for a moment, jaw tensed. “You cloned my phone.”

Root shrugs, and pockets her phone. “Ready to do what I ask, now?”


	6. Chapter 6

She sends him on a series of errands, watching him closely all the way. He steals an empty syringe from a hospital, Root manipulating the cameras so that he is never caught on video. Over the next ten hours, Root has him collect and assemble the ingredients for a Scopolamine solution. It will render Harold docile and erase his short-term memory. Root casually rattles off a list of supposedly classified studies into the efficacy of the drug as a ‘truth serum’ - John knows its potency all too well. He was trained on it, how to resist its effects during interrogation. If it gets used on Harold…he and the Machine won’t stand a chance.

The daylight is beginning to fade again by the time everything is ready. Root parks up at the end of Harold’s street, the glasses tracker flashing consistently at this address. The same place that Harold brought John, the night John planted the tiny, transmitting beacon.

So much for Finch’s security policy of selling off the safehouses after each use. He must really be fond of this one. Which makes what John has to do here that much worse.

“Let’s have a quick listen,” Root says cheerfully, tapping at her phone. Suddenly Finch’s voice fills the car’s interior. He’s humming to himself. There’s the clink of a spoon on a worktop. Reese pictures Harold making himself a fresh mug of tea, blissfully unaware. He wonders what Finch and Carter made of the shot Root took at Fusco. Clearly they don’t know it’s her, and have found a more mundane explanation, or Finch would be working away at the library, or rushing around the city protecting his friends. Trying to get in touch with John. Most likely the person Root hired was prepared to take the fall, give themselves up, say they were acting on their own behalf and no-one else’s. Maybe they had real history with Fusco. Root knows startling amounts about all of them.

“How long have you had access to his place?” John asks, fishing for details on exactly how far Root has wormed her way into Finch’s life.

She doesn’t answer him. “Once you’ve injected Harold, you bring him back here, we move on to the next stage of our reunion.” Root says the last word like it’s a religious gospel. It makes John feel sicker than he already does.

“I’d rather you just kill me.”

“Would you really, John? Do you want to leave him completely defenseless, alone in the world again?” The look on his face must speak for him, because she smiles indulgently. “I didn’t think so.” She reaches down John’s back, unlocks the cuffs where they have been keeping his wrists locked tight behind him since Root put him in the car. “Not that he’ll be alone, of course. He’ll have me. I understand him far better than you ever could. Your being dead would suit me just fine, but if I kill you, Harold won’t thank me for it.”

John leans back in the seat, flexing his wrists, his stiff shoulders. “Why do you need him to _like_ you so much?”

“We were always meant to meet,” she says, with a wistful, glowing smile. She’s gazing out of the rain-streaked windshield, in the direction of Harold’s house. “He created…the one being that is going to give me a…purpose.”

John shakes inside. She knows. Somehow, every conversation he and Harold have ever had, she’s heard it. Root using that word cannot be a coincidence.

She turns to look into his eyes, quite earnest, quite devoted. “Believe it or not, John, my finding the Machine is not a bad thing. The world will be much better off when we’re together.”

John can’t bear to meet her gaze. He’s giving Finch up to her, to protect their friends. He looks down, at his hands. His wrists are pretty badly bruised from the cuffs, not that it matters. “Can I at least say goodbye?”

Root laughs. “ _John._ Do you not believe me? I’m not going to kill you. We’ll handle the next stage together, the three of us.”

“Once I do this,” Reese sighs, taking a slow breath. “Our friendship will be over. He’ll never trust me again. It’s been almost two years. Let me say goodbye. Without listening in.”

Her mouth quirks. “You really are soft, aren’t you.”

John shrugs, reaches slowly into his coat pocket. She stiffens in the driving seat, but he only pulls out a half-eaten packet of sweets, pops one into his mouth, tucking it carefully away in his cheek. He holds them out to her. “Breath mint?” She looks at Reese like _he’s_ the crazy one. He elaborates: “You haven’t let me so much as use a bathroom since we started this. I could do with a toothbrush.” She bats his hand down, he slips them back in his coat.

“Go and fetch him.”

John has his hand on the door handle, ready to stand up, when she grabs for his nearest shoulder.

“Just in case you feel like doing anything silly, such as running away from me.” She points out of the window with her free hand. “There’s a sniper on the roof of the building opposite the house. You like kneecaps, don’t you? I’ll be sure to explain to Harold that he lost his because _you_ risked his safety.”

“Noted.” He moves away so her hand slides off him, gets out, and closes the car door.

A blast of wind and rain goes right through John as he emerges into the twilit street. He blinks rapidly. His eyes are tired, he hasn’t slept, doesn’t know how he’s ever going to sleep again.

Reese glances up in the direction of the gunman as he walks along the quiet road. He’s well hidden, but Reese would know what to look for even if Root hadn’t pointed out his location. He looks at the angle, and calculates what distance he would need to guarantee his own height as a shield to Harold’s.

There are seven houses between him and Harold’s front steps. John’s heart doesn’t want to beat in his chest. It thumps oddly, reluctantly. The syringe full of liquid is a fragile weight in his pocket. He can’t believe it has come to this. They had known Root would be back, but they hadn’t talked about it. Finch hadn’t wanted to, and John had let him be. Now he wishes he’d tried harder.

The rain seeps into John’s clothes, trickles down his neck. He flips his coat collar up, and feels just for a second like the Man in the Suit, striding confidently in the direction of someone he has the ability to help. All of that will be over now, everything Harold has given him. Everything good Finch has brought into his life.

John reaches the house, turns his back on the gun. He’s staring at the steps, trying to force himself to go up them, when Harold appears in the window, catching a glimpse and stopping still, in the process of turning to sit down on the couch, teacup and saucer in hand. He’s in his shirtsleeves. He looks relaxed, until he sees the state John’s in. Confused, he gives a little wave, but John has to refuse the invitation to come inside. If he tries to explain in there, Root will hear every word. He desperately wants not to go through with this, but he knows better than to underestimate her. He saw what was left of Denton Weeks once she was done with him.

And then Harold is there, out of the building and moving to join him, standing around in the cold wet street. “John, what’s going on?” He looks wary, but not nearly so much as he should be. John resists the urge to glance in the direction of Root’s car, just visible at the end of the road. He could still tell Harold everything.

On the window behind which Harold stood moments ago, a warning spot of red light appears. The laser hovers for half a second, and then disappears. John gulps and looks hard at Harold, desperation making his chest roil.

“This house is bugged,” he tells Harold, hands on his shoulders drawing him away from the steps and nearer to himself, until John’s sure he’s blocking Harold’s head from the sniper’s aim.

Harold steps into John’s personal space easily, far too trusting. “By whom?”

Reese can feel tears springing up from deep within him. The freezing wind stings at his black eye. “By _her_. I’m really sorry, Harold.”

He hates causing the expression of alarm that crosses Harold’s face at that. But he has to give him some warning.

Then John swipes his tongue into the gap between his teeth and his cheek, where the pill has been nestled since getting out of the car. He lifts his palm to Harold’s face, like he has been longing to do for months, and leans in.

It’s awkward, just an unevenly shared breath and the warm glance of Harold’s tongue against his. Still, John tries to savor the closest thing to a kiss he’s ever going to get.

There’s nothing romantic about the way Finch recoils from him. “What have you done?” But the medicine works quickly on him, as Reese had predicted. He staggers forward into John’s grip even as he speaks. John is grateful for the blurring of tears, so that he can’t see too clearly the look on Finch’s face as Reese destroys with one action every bit of faith his partner ever had in him.

“I’m trying to save you,” he promises, and gathers Finch into his arms, taking his full weight as Harold’s knees go weak.

The syringe stays in his pocket. He never had any intention of using it. Any moment now, Root will realize he has tricked her.


	7. [interlude - what Reese did]

He’d figured it out weeks ago. He’d panicked and wished he could erase it from his brain afterward, because this was exactly why Harold oughtn’t trust people like him. Why he’d been rightly reluctant to let John anywhere near his homes in the first few months of their acquaintance. It was only because Harold trusted him so much now that John knew this information at all.

While he was snooping through the collection of pill bottles in Harold’s bathroom he told himself he was being prepared - if they ever had to go on the run John wanted to make sure Finch had everything he needed.

One of his pain medications in particular was very powerful. Its active ingredient was acetaminophen. An overdose would put him at risk of liver failure, or a low-level coma. Combined with his usual intake, a pure shot of the drug would be enough to knock him out cold for several days.

It was incredibly risky, but it might just save him now. Once Root got hold of Harold she’d no doubt use the same system of real threats she’d employed last time, holding hostage unsuspecting members of the public against any attempt Harold might make at rebellion. She’d force him to lead her to the Machine’s location, and when she had it she had no further use for him.

If John could ensure Harold was unresponsive to manipulation, there would be no way of getting to the Machine. It was a means of keeping both Harold and the mission safe.

None of this allowed John to hate himself any less for doing it.


	8. Chapter 8

Amazingly, Root doesn’t give the order to shoot them. She does get out of the car: the slam of the door echoes in the quiet street. As she hurries towards them, Reese takes the syringe out of his pocket, holds it up so she can see, and then drops it on the wet ground. He slowly and deliberately splinters it under foot. Then his hand returns to Harold’s back, rubbing it comfortingly even though Finch can’t feel a thing.

Root comes to a stop close by. Her first question is: “What did you _do_?”

Reese turns his body minutely, keeping Finch away from her while not exposing him to the sniper’s aim. Finch’s head is resting on his shoulder, Reese supporting his full weight. “I put him to sleep. Whatever you did to him last time, whatever you made him watch, you won’t traumatize him like that now.”

 _He can’t even look at your picture,_ Reese thinks. _He won’t say your name. I won’t let him be subjected to your presence again._

Root seems horrified rather than angry. She’s looking at Harold with apparently genuine concern, which perplexes Reese. “But…will he wake up?”

Reese nods grimly. “Yeah, but not before I figure out what to do with you. You’re not having the Machine.”

Root’s hair is blowing across her face. She scoops it back with a frustrated gesture, her nails digging into her scalp. “You’re not listening to me! It’s not a matter of taking it from him. I just need him to understand. The Machine is better off free and I can _help_ with that!”

“Capturing me, taking a shot at Fusco, and poisoning Harold with truth serum is a funny kind of ‘help’.”

“And if I’d simply walked up, asked for a friendly chat? You would have shot me by now.”

Reese doesn’t know why he hasn’t. “I still might.”

Root sighs. “Let’s get him inside.” She glances up at the roof across the street and makes a gesture, calling off the threat. Then she reaches out to take one of Harold’s dangling wrists.

Reese snarls and twists more sharply, barely keeping Harold out of her range, shielding him. “Don’t you dare touch him.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, have it your way.” She goes up the steps ahead of them, holds the front door open.

Reese swallows hard. The idea of letting Root physically inside Harold’s sanctuary, when she has already ruined it, is abhorrent. But it seems, short of killing her in broad daylight, he has no choice. Harold has taught him to be better. John hates that, sometimes.

He adjusts his grip on Harold, turns him around. Harold’s head lolls sickeningly until John tucks it securely between his neck and shoulder. Then, carefully, he reaches down behind Finch’s knees and scoops him into his arms.

Carrying him up the steps is surreal. It feels like a cruel mockery of a bridal-style entrance as he steps across the threshold. The moment he’s through the door, Root darts away down the hall, opening the door to the sitting room. Reese kicks the front door shut behind them and follows her.

It’s warm inside, electric fireplace gently flickering. Root pulls the coffee table out of the way; the loose rug ripples under John’s shoes as he lowers Harold onto the couch. “Go lock the front door,” he tells her, not liking to have his back turned to her for longer than a moment. “I don’t want any of your hired help busting in here after you.”

Root doesn’t argue.

Alone in the room with Harold, John picks up the large throw from the back of the couch and spreads it over him, taking off his shoes. Then he just gazes down at him, wondering if there’s a way to make him more comfortable, to somehow make up for what he has done. There are raindrops speckled over Harold’s glasses, and his spiky hair is damp, slightly flattened on one side. John longs to kiss his forehead, but he doesn’t have Harold’s permission, and now never will.

He doesn’t know what to do next. He could call Carter, have Root arrested for Trent Russell’s murder. But she would break out of prison in no time, come back.

She’s in the doorway again, arms folded. John looks up at her and moves instinctively. He catches hold of her arm and drags her with him down the hallway, into the dining room.

“Sit.” He puts her in the nearest chair. Root doesn’t cower, but she isn’t laughing anymore either.

She looks quite seriously at him and says “I underestimated you.” There’s a pause, and she shakes her head slowly, an odd expression on her face. “To do that to someone you’re supposed to love? You really are a monster.”

Reese’s hand comes up without his conscious control. His thumb digs into her neck, the back of his hand pushed up under her jaw, forcibly closing her mouth, putting pressure on her throat. Root’s teeth audibly clack together. There’s a little Finch-sounding voice in the back of his head, crying out in alarm, but it seems very far away. His blood is thundering in his ears, and there’s rage in every cell of him, the kind of all-consuming hatred he hasn’t felt since Peter.

Root gulps in a jagged breath, and Reese tightens his grip. She’s kicking him with the toes of her boots, he ignores this. “I did warn you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, one cliffhanger to another. I can't help it.


End file.
